


of fractured sanctuary and shots in the dark

by Unicat121



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amused Gandalf, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Babette is just tired of everyone acting immature, Badass Reader, Canon-Typical Violence, Cicero Being Cicero (Elder Scrolls), Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dovahkiin | Dragonborn Reader, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Emotionally Constipated Thorin, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gandalf Is So Done, Gandalf Is a Little Shit, Gandalf Knows All, Gandalf Ships It, Gandalf is a Troll, Gen, Good Uncle Thorin, Hobbits have too much common sense to exist in middle earth, I should probably tag that, It's Always Gandalf's Fault, Light Angst, M/M, ME - Freeform, Multi, Points of View, Protective Thorin, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Smaug is lonely, Smaug speaks the skyrim dragontongue, Sneaky Gandalf, So many points of view, There's more - Freeform, Thieves Guild, Thieves Guild (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Thorin Is an Idiot, also, and meet the dark brotherhood, and the dragonborn, and the listener just so happens to be bored out of her mind, guess who forgot t tag stuff!!!!, like seriously, plus i am of the opinion Smaug is lonely, protective smaug, thats right, the company is yeeted to skyrim, this is self-indulgent by the way, this is such a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:21:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicat121/pseuds/Unicat121
Summary: 'The Dark Brotherhood is a guild of elite assassins who revel in blood and darkness. They know nought but murder and shadows.'You remembered your mother telling you stories about the group which terrorised Skyrim when you were a young bosmer, but now, as chief among that same guild, you know better.It's complete and utter bullshit, by the way.| | | | | | | | | |This story is on an indefinite hiatus while I work through some stuff. Thank you. :)
Relationships: Babette & Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Babette & Listener, Bilbo Baggins & Gandalf | Mithrandir, Cicero & Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cicero & Listener, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies), Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Character(s), Nazir & Dovakhiin | Dragonborn, Original Female Character/Original Female Chracter, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Thorin Oakenshield & Reader, Thorin Oakenshield & Thorin's Company, Thorin Oakenshield/Reader, Thorin Oakenshield/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	1. The Talking Door

**Author's Note:**

> So I got this idea after spending an entire morning doing the Dark Brotherhood and Imperial side of the war questlines then watching the entire Hobbit trilogy. Welp, enjoy my coffee-induced-parnoid-hysterical-writing-extravaganza.

' _The Dark Brotherhood is a guild of elite assassins who revel in blood and darkness. They know nought but murder and shadows_.'

You remembered your mother telling you stories about the group which terrorised Skyrim when you were a young bosmer, but now, as chief among that same guild, you know better.

It's complete and utter bullshit, by the way.

You know this, with complete and utter certainty, because at the moment, you are watching Cicero metaphorically murder a new initiate in the 'knife game', as he calls it, whilst singing the single most infuriating song ever known to man. The only other two initiates in the building are another bosmer like yourself and a dunmer woman, who are taking bets over how long it will take Cicero to cut himself while getting drunk on Nord Mead. Just as you start fingering the ebony dagger you are _going_ to hurl at the stupid jester's hat, Nazir steps in and whispers something into your ear.

The news he brings is disturbing, to say the least, and you get up, whistling once at Cicero, who follows without question but unfortunately not without that infuriating song and a swipe at the gold pouch on the table. You roll your eyes.

One of your new silencers has returned from the contract your second speaker, Babette, sent him to complete. He is experienced enough, so you wonder why exactly his ebony sword is shaking in his hand. "My Listener," he says, bowing slightly and nodding at Cicero, who has _finally_ stopped singing. "I bring news from Dawnstar's northern watchtower. I- I saw a company of warriors coming in the direction of our sanctuary, a group of fifteen. A Hobbit from the eastern territories of the empire; a wizard who carries a destruction staff; and... thirteen dwarves, Listener, that I could count."

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief. "They could have been small nords, young teenagers out to hunt bears and prove their worth, perhaps? Either way, many of them are problematic. Take my Shadowmere. Ask Nazir for a list of current contracts and gather my silencers to return here quickly. How far away are the strangers, Shakh-Veera?"

The argonian thinks for a moment. "At the rate they are going, Listener, two days journey. I don't think they are familiar with the area." You nod.

"Good, travel no farther south than Morthaal, and no further east than Winterhold. Bring my silencers back within two days, for if they find the sanctuary, I am not sure how long we would last. My mount is waiting outside. He is swift and silent, he will serve you well. Replenish your supplies and go."

Blue scales glint off the candlelight as he scurries to his quarters, returning moments later with his sword sheathed and a bow on his back. You nod at him as he bows to you, and walks out of the sanctuary. Next to you, Cicero giggles.

"The Listener is _such_ a scary lady! To think she couldn't handle thirteen young nords and a hobbit?"

You hiss at the madman. "Did you not hear Shakh-Veera? There is a mage among them who carries a staff of destruction. If they find the sanctuary they can block us in! _That_ is the cause of my concerns, Cicero!" You groan and drag a hand down your face in resignation. "I _hate_ mages."

Babette appears behind you, a cold, comforting presence by your side. You look down at the immortal and give her a strained smile. She hands you a small vial, and you take one look and know immediately it is a Magicka poison. "Thank you." The small vampire nods, before retiring to her quarters, and you begin climbing the stairs in the main hall to meditate before the Night Mother's coffin. It is open, and Cicero is tending to the inside of the doors when you arrive. You send him away, and sit cross-legged on the steps in front of her, placing a hand on each knee and closing your eyes.

" _Mother,_ " you whisper, her name a mere ghost on your tongue, " _there are strangers on the horizon._ " You do not expect a reply. Your job is to listen, not to ask.

" **Listener...** "

Your head shoots up and your eyes snap open. " _Mother, what will you have me do_?"

" **Let them in... my Listener... They are to kill a... dragon... the one... who threatens their home... beneath... the Lonely Mountain... and will threaten too... us... one day... You will... aid them in their... quest... The line of... Durin... runs... strong with them...** "

You raise one eyebrow. Cicero walks up behind you, his clinking bells the only sign he is even there. The Night Mother is silent once again. You get up, leaving the Keeper to his duties as the two new initiates stagger to their shared quarters in search of a bed to nurse their hangover when they wake up. You hang your head and retire to your room, where the mannequin dressed in the robes of Titus Mede II stands in the corner as a trophy of you most challenging contract to date. The chest at the end of your bed has Ulfric Stormcoak's garments folded neatly inside it for when you have guests.

The scrolls on your table are still there, and you, in twenty years, have been unable to remember to take them with you on a miscellaneous excursion to earn some gold. You can never remember where to sell them when you do, so they end up staying there. You pick up a random book, deciding to read for a time before surrendering to sleep. You end up reading a journal you discovered in the ruin of someplace or another. It speaks of the dragons of old, and the hidden Word of Power you found and learned there.

The book has you reminiscing about your dear friend, Paarthurnax, who is rumoured to have returned to the throat of the world. You wonder if it is about the time to visit him. A knock on your door has you roused from your thoughts and back into the world of the living and the undead. Nazir stands ready to knock again when you open the door. "The silencer is back, friend." You're sure your surprise shows on your face.

"Already? We sent him out no more than an hour ago. Were the Mother’s children closer to the Sanctuary than I originally thought?"

"It seems so. All have returned but the one sent to Solitude." You nod. That sounds about right. You did send that contractor out only the morn before. Gather them all tomorrow morning in the hall. We must discuss what the Night Mother divulged to me today." Nazir blinks a couple of times, evidently taking in what you have just said before he nods and closes the door. You are left staring absently at the spot he once was, your mind once again drifting back to Paarthurnax and the Elder Scrolls. You think perhaps the Greybeards could aid the dwarves in their quest.

You shake your head. They would never find their way up the thousand steps, and they would have to navigate the frost trolls which called the snowy rockface their home. There was also the possibility of a dragon come to challenge the Elder at the throat of the world spotting them and attacking. You may be the one who killed the World-Eater, but that didn't mean that the dragons _liked_ mortals, oh no.

They would just as soon as let a dwarf live as they would bow to you. So, they wouldn't.

But to kill a dragon, you needed archers with keen eyes and black arrows, or, conveniently, a Dragonborn bored out of her mind. Which, when the dwarves got here, they would have. You slip out of your shrouded armour and all but collapse onto your bed. Cicero is far more exhausting now that he is getting on. Thankfully, he is loyal enough - or mad enough, with him, who could say? - to continue serving his oaths, until death you remember him saying.

When you glide into the sweet recess of slumber, you see the Night Mother as she was in life, Paarthurnax as he will be in death and another dragon, the same size as Alduin but known to both dragontongue and common speech like your Dov friend. You see Nocturnal and her nightingales of old and you see a cloud from which Sithis emerges.

You do not fear this strange Dov, but the power of his Thu’uum. He uses only fire but has spent centuries meditating on the words. You know what you will need to beat him, and you know that no matter how far from the sanctuary you grow, the Night Mother and Nocturnal will guide you.

But you fear for those silly little nords. The Greybeards would not divulge the secrets so easily, nor would they take kindly to visitors who sought to take weapons and magic to kill a dragon whom they may worship. The young warriors would die without you. Soon, your dreams turn to empty clouds floating through your mind and the night ebbs away into the morning with unusual timidity.

**| | | | |**

Bilbo knew that travelling too far west would land them in the hardy region of Skyrim. A place where dragons were said to have returned to high mountain nests! Of course, when such a concern was raised, the dwarves of the company laughed and poked fun at him for believing everything he heard. Confusticate those bloody dwarves and their complete lack of _caution_. At least Gandalf takes him semi-seriously. But in actual fact, the hobbit believes the old wizard simply humours him so that he has someone in the company permanently on his side of any - could they really be called quarrels, they were more like family squabbles than anything - argument

It takes Bilbo a while to stop glancing up at the sky as they travel, but once he has he begins to realise the cold seeping through his coat and into his clothes. It begins with Dori sneezing, and then Bombur's teeth begin to chatter and Fíli and Kíli start walking a little closer together. Walking directly behind the leader of their company, Bilbo is privy to the slight shivering of Thorin's breath, and how his fingers are starting to run pink. Thankfully, Balin seems to notice as well and overtakes the 'Master Burglar' to suggest to the King under the Mountain that they should make a camp, get a fire started.

Thorin agrees, thankfully, and soon they are huddled among blankets and furs around crackling logs and dancing flame while sharing out what food they have. Bibo is squished between the brothers, who's jovial laughter and friendliness does well enough to settle him. Thorin is the other side of Kíli, stone-faced and with a steadily shortening fuse, so the group leaves him mostly alone.

Gandalf is opposite Bilbo, and he is smiling and puffing smoke with the rest of the older dwarves in the company. In the distance, silhouetted against the stars of blue and green and gold and red, a great mountain rises up, below which there is a group of houses one could mistake for a village if there weren't quite so many. The rocky outcrop they are on affords them some shelter, but the incoming clouds and the white mist starting to block the town from his view suggests to the hobbit of Bag End that it may not quite be enough to stop all of them from freezing.

Unfortunately, it seems that problem has already been solved, and before he can protest, Bilbo is part of a mess of limbs and warmth pressed against the stone wall, close to the brothers and far enough away from the other dwarves with whom he doesn't have such a close relationship with that it isn't awkward. He is surprised at how well dwarves can huddle and retain warmth through cold nights. He falls asleep to Gandalf sitting just within his reach of vision. He mumbles a quiet goodnight but slips into sleep encompassed by warmth far too quickly to hear the muttered response over the incoming whirl of snow.

When he wakes he wonders how he could have missed it. There is an indent in the snowdrift where Gandalf must have been, but the dwarves have not yet moved, and Bilbo wonders why. Kíli is definitely awake, and when he whispers his question so as not to wake anyone else, the young dwarf whispers back: "We don't move 'till everyone's awake. Otherwise, they wake up cold, and it's never nice to wake up with your toes falling off 'cause of the snow."

Then, promptly after whispering the answer to Bilbo, he yells to the entire group. "Alright, lads! Bilbo's awake, let's go!" But- did that mean- all of a sudden, the hobbit is hit with a wave of emotion, touched at how the dwarves had waited in probably slightly irritating positions for him to wake up on his own. Who knew these difficult, stubborn pig-headed dwarves could be considerate?

They pack up quickly, moving on within the hour of Bilbo waking. Thorin (as always) leads, followed by Balin, then Gandalf and himself, who are talking about the difference between an infestation and a pest problem. How the conversation turned towards such a gross subject, Bilbo is not aware. He fingers the ring in his pocket, wondering how Gandalf would react if he were to slip it on. He decides against it eventually, content to walk in comfortable silence with the wizard as they press on.

Soon, the Company reaches an overhang of rocks below which a horse with a pitch-black coat is stood. He is not tethered, but the stallion is saddled and waiting, unbothered by the snow. He lifts his head, and blood-red eyes fixate on Gandalf. The tall man mutters an ' _I see,_ ' under his breath, and leads the group down and around until they stand behind the horse. To the surprise of Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, there is a door engraved with a skull and chains set into the rock face. Hidden from the view of the town by the overhang. Its eyes seem to follow each member of the Company no matter which way they move, and Gandalf steps forward with Thorin after several heavy moments of pregnant silence.

Then, to the adamant disbelief of the hobbit, it speaks. The door fucking speaks. If they had seen this at the start of their journey, he would have jumped half a mile and hidden. But he has been on the road for months now, and he is slightly less irrational in his fear. ( _Though_ , he thinks bitterly, _being afraid of a talking door with a human skull on it is hardly irrational_.)

" _ **What is the music of life?"**_

It takes Gandalf a moment to respond.

"Silence, my brother," he says, and the door shrieks, starting to glow a blood-red from the space around it. Then, it swings open.


	2. The Woman of Red and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one meets the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, they very often already know who she is. Which is why, now, standing in front of a Hobbit with far too much common sense for his own good, you find yourself nearly at a loss.
> 
> (Alternatively: Bilbo Baggins is perfectly capable of negotiating when he’s not cold, tired, hungry and being held at knifepoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some asterisks throughout the chapters. See the end of the chapter for explanations on every part.

Bilbo Baggins is _furious._

**| | | | |**

_When the door had opened, the door which_ spoke _mind you, a man with red fabric wrapped around his head and a curved sword at his hip was standing in the doorway. He scanned the Company._

_”Who is chief among you,” he had asked, prompting Thorin to step forward._

_”I am.”_

_”Then you answered the door?”_

_Gandalf cleared his throat. “That would have been me. This is Thorin Oakenshield, leader of our Company but not the holder of the most delicate knowledge.”_

_Bilbo almost snorted at that. Thorin looked like someone trying_ not _to look outraged and Fíli and Kíli were quite obviously finding it just as hard to contain their amusement. The man raised one dark eyebrow but nodded nonetheless._

_”Welcome. You answered the door incorrectly, thus the Night Mother’s word is the truth.”_

_Who in the name of Lady Yavanna was the Night Mother? Was Bilbo missing something here?_

_But the man was already walking away, down a dark passageway dimly lit by lanterns. Gandalf started to follow him, but the thirteen dwarves and one hobbit hung back. The wizard glanced over his shoulder._

_”Well? Come on you fools!”_

_There had been a flurry of movement before they were all following the man down a flight of stairs, across a bridge, down another flight of stairs and then up one. They came to a hall, one wall of which was completely occupied by a large, imposing, circular skull mural, one not all too different from the door. Bilbo suppressed a shudder when he saw it._ _In addition to the wholly unnecessary wall art, the hobbit could see no fewer than four red banners decorated with a solitary black handprint on every other available slab of stone. But there would be time to lament their host’s decorating later because the hall was filled with about a dozen adults armed and dressed in identical red and black uniforms._

_Their faces were hidden by masks and hoods, save for four people. A woman with black hair who had her back to them, the man who welcomed them, a young girl who was sitting idly in the corner and a pale man in what looked like a jester’s costume. The bells on his hat jingled every time he so much as turned his head._

_The dark man with the head wrap cleared his throat, and a dozen pairs of eyes turned to face them save one. “The strangers, Listener.” The final person turned to look at them._

_”Then the Night Mother’s word... once again rings true.”_

_She had olive skin, a slim figure, a pretty face and a crooked smile. Her eyes were two different colours, one black and one a pale, interesting blue. But her ears were pointed, albeit only slightly, meaning she was elven, though not completely. Unfortunately, one look at Thorin and Bilbo knew this wasn’t going to go well._

_”They are dwarves. Funny, I thought they’d be even smaller! But that one is_ really _little!”_

 _The girl in the corner got up and walked happily over to join the elf halfling, who smiled fondly at her antics. Bilbo, however, bristled. He was used to being small, but since he had joined the company he had been the smallest thing around. This girl was only just his height, and she was in no position to tell_ him he _was short!_

_Before the hobbit could think of a snarky comeback, however, Thorin has stepped forward again, and Bilbo was busy sharing a concerned look with Gandalf and Balin. The woman raised one elegant eyebrow._

_"Are you the leader of this Company of strangers?” She smiled as she spoke, but everyone in the room would have been able to tell you the tension was palpable._

_"What do you want with us, elf?”_

_The woman shared a look with the dark man behind them. “I’m a Bosmer, my friend, and only half at that. You would do well to show the leader of this family some more respect.”_

_Gandalf shuffled forwards, his staff clacking against the cold stone they were stood on. Before Thorin could reply with something that would undoubtedly offend the half-elf, the elder stepped in._

_”Forgive him, oh Listener, for we are weary. We have travelled far and faced many dangers on our journey through Middle Earth to Tamriel. We only come here looking for shelter, and stumbled upon your Sanctuary by chance.”_

_The last statement elicits a chuckle from the ‘Listener’, who has moved to sit with one leg crossed over the other on a long table. “By chance? Oh, but you knew the phrase. I’m afraid that does not mean you came here by chance.”_

_"I assure you, oh Listener, we had no intention of finding your home-”_

_"Do not lie to me! The Night Mother said you would come to our home, seeking shelter in our Sanctuary, that you would say the phrase for the shelter long since burned by the Penitus Oculatus! I know your mission, and by Sithis I am going to help any way I can, but do not lie to me and disrespect the Night Mother’s word! I am no fool, wizard!” After her outburst, she seemed to take time to collect herself, before continuing._

_"There is no need to lie. I know why you are here, and we have rooms prepared, but once you have eaten and taken rest, you will tell us what you plan to do about the calamity beneath the mountain." Apparently, that was that, because she had sent four people dressed in the uniforms to escort them to their rooms. What did surprise Bilbo was the fact that they were allowed to keep their weapons because honestly, none of these people looked like they worked exactly..._ legal _jobs._

_Fíli and Kíli were in the same room as him, along with Óri and Bifur. The rest of the company minus Thorin, Gandalf and Balin were in the room opposite. After Bilbo had placed his pack down and sat on the edge of his bed, there came a knock at the door, which took them a moment to answer. Eventually, Fíli got up to answer, opening the door and trying to stand just a little bit taller. A young woman stood in the doorway, she couldn't have been more than sixteen, and fidgeted slightly when Kíli gave her a 'Yes?'_

_"W-Would you- um.. well, I, the Listener wants to, ah-" and Bilbo couldn't watch anymore._

_He crossed the room, ushered Kíli out of the way and looked up at the girl with what he hoped was a kind smile. "Take your time," he said gently, smile widening when she took a deep breath and sighed in relief. Her fingers stopped twitching and she looked far more sure of herself now._

_"The Listener would like to know if you will take your meal in your room or the hall. Either way, you will be fed what you need to continue travelling."_

_From where he was laying spread eagle on his bed, Kíli shouted, "In here!" Bifur, Fíli and Óri agreed, and Bilbo was completely helpless to refuse them, so he nodded slowly in agreement. The girl smiled and gave a shallow bow, turning on her heel and starting to walk away. just before Bilbo closed the door, however, she reappeared, a sheepishness visible in her eyes as she poked her head around the corner._

_"Apologies. The Listener would like to speak with you, Oakenshield, Master Balin and Gandalf after you eat. I do not, unfortunately, know why, but I will come to escort you when she is ready. You will be in her personal quarters, so we will ask you to leave your weapons here. That is all." The girl walked lightly down the corridor, making almost no sound with her feet as she did so, and Bilbo was impressed._

_They had dinner within the half-hour, and it was the best food that Bilbo had ever eaten. Well, that might have been an exaggeration, but it had been so long since he had had a proper meal, with a plate and knife and fork and_ everything _that he could have been served piping hot too-watery soup and thanked the chef from the bottom of his heart. The dwarves he was sharing a room with seemed equally appreciative, all but inhaling their meals in a matter of minutes. Thankfully, unlike their dinner at Bag end, there was not a chorus of burps following the food, which meant that at least some hobbit manners were rubbing off on the dwarves._

_Soon enough, Óri and Kíli were sound asleep, the days on the road to Skyrim having apparently worn them out completely. Fíli was reading a book about Erebor he had brought with him on the journey, and when the woman came again to pick him up, Bilbo lent him a quiet goodnight on his way out. He heard Thorin's heir mutter something in response, but couldn't quite make it out, considering he was a bit busy keeping up with the smooth, long strides of the girl escorting him. She noticed he was struggling to keep up, thankfully, slowing her pace to make it easier._

_Bilbo didn't particularly want to walk in silence, and if he had learnt anything as a hobbit of Bag End it was how to make small talk in grossly uncomfortable situations. "So what is your name?"_

_The girl seemed slightly surprised. "The Listener named me Solaris. I'm a wood elf, a bosmer on both sides of my family." Raising one eyebrow, Bilbo proposed his next question._

_"The Listener named you? What?" But they were already there. A large, wooden door separated the hobbit from possibly the tensest conversation he would ever be a part of. He sighed, might as well take the arrow instead of the mace which would follow it. When Solaris opened the door, four pairs of eyes turned to look at him. He muttered a quiet 'Hello,' before sidling quietly over to Gandalf, throwing the wizard a questioning look, which was returned with a shrug of his shoulders._

_"Well," Thorin stated blandly, "our burglar is here. What do you want, halfbreed*?" Bilbo blinked a couple of times before he computed what Thorin was implying. And then-_

**| | | | |**

Bilbo Baggins is _furious_.

But before he can voice his anger, the dark man in the corner and the young girl who was sitting on her chair have made their way to stand in front of the dwarf. And then everything happens so fast Bilbo hardly has time to blink.

Suddenly Thorin is on his knees and there is a curved sword at his throat, the girl's hand keeping him down while the dark man's sword gets even closer to a few things which are vital for breathing. The Listener only raises an eyebrow when Balin protests, saying, "I warned him. I said he would do well to show me more respect as the head of this family. Halflbreed is hardly an insinuation to be taken lightly, Master dwarf, but I understand your concern. They will not harm him. At least not much"

But she doesn't stop them straight away. She watches as the dark man bends down and opens his mouth to speak. "Our Listener," he says, his voice dangerously calm, "has endured more hardship and strife than you could hope to even _imagine_. Make such a vulgar accusation again, and we will hang your head from the rock above the door." Thorin only grits his teeth.

"Let him go, Nazir. Babette. You have made your point rather _too_ well, I imagine." The girl - Babette, Bilbo assumes - lets go of the scruff of the dwarf's neck, patting down her skirt and smiling as she passes the listener. Nazir, the man, replaces his sword at his hip and returns, not to the corner, but the side of the half-elf. She rolls her eyes at his obvious protectiveness but does poorly to hide the fond smile which makes its way onto her face.

Then, she turns to Bilbo, who still hasn’t been able to say his bit. “Master Burglar-” she starts, but the hobbit is in no state of mind to listen right now.

”You really are a piece of work, Thorin Oakenshield. You decide you’re going to insult the leader of this organisation, an organisation which has graciously provided food, shelter and aid to our journey, because of your prejudice! We might as well pack our bags and move into whatever form of dungeon they have! No, Gandalf, I’m finishing,” he almost spits, immediately guilty about showing disrespect to a friend but still too angry to care. “If I were you,” he says, feeling his face heat up, “I would save our skins now and apologise.”

The room is silent for a few moments, and as Bilbo’s head clears and he realises he may have just destroyed what fragile friendship he has with Thorin, he starts to feel the mortification set in.

And then a laugh permeates the silence.

The Listener is bent double, a hand over her stomach and another bracing on the table as she laughs heartily. When she stands she leans slightly backwards, making eye contact with a sniggering Babette before doubling over again. "Master Burglar," she says, when she has collected herself enough to form coherent sentences, "you really are a one! My name's been through rather a lot, so I can take whatever it is this prince decides to throw at me. Though," she adds, her tone slightly colder, "I should warn you I have a record of killing both an emperor and a rebellion leader. Now, while I certainly shouldn't _like_ to add prince of dwarves to my list, do not double-cross this family, for I will do anything and everything it takes to protect it."

**| | | | |**

You had to admit, you didn't think a hobbit would dare to stand up against a dwarven prince. Apparently, the poor thing just seems even more embarrassed by your laughter, so you collect yourself and set his worries about being thrown in the torture chamber to rest. "Master burglar, you really are a one! My name's been through rather a lot, so I can take whatever it is this prince decides to throw at me. Though, I should warn you I have a record of killing both an emperor and a rebellion leader. now, while I certainly shouldn't _like_ to add a prince of dwarves to my list, do not doubled-cross this family, for I will do anything and everything it takes to protect it."

Behind you, you feel the shift in Nazir, and make a metal not to ask him if he knew anyone in the old Stormcloak rebellion. "Now that that has been resolved, Oakenshield, what do you require to reach the lonely mountain?"

The dwarf scoffs, having picked himself up from the ground. "Answers, bosmer. Why help a company of dwarves when you quite clearly are not in any position to?" He nearly spits his question and if you knew he wasn't wary of the vampire sitting in the corner, he probably would have. You raise one eyebrow and give him what you know is an empty, but polite smile.

"The Night Mother tells of a company of fifteen, of which you are the leader. You are to kill a dragon, and should you fail, that dragon will threaten us, too. I can help you kill a dragon, Oakenshield, and should you not want to lose anyone, you will bring me with you to the Lonely Mountain. Before," you say, holding up your finger when the dwarf opens his mouth to speak, "you decline, I believe it is important for me to tell you that I have plenty of favours owed to me in this land, and I can help you deal with the dragon. You see, I am Dovahkiin. Your wizard can explain to you the rest."

You glance to the side, where the grey mage Gandalf seems to be choking on nothing. You suppress a giggle. While it's true that it has been many years since there has been a Dragonborn not of Nord or Imperial origin, coupled with the fact that there has not been a Dragonborn in a century, you can understand why the wizard would be slightly surprised, but surely he sensed this when he arrived?

You knew immediately that Thorin Oakenshield was royalty the moment he stepped into your line of sight. "Gandalf? What in Mahal's name is a Dovahkiin?" You suppress yet another bout of laughter at Oakenshield's face when Gandalf doesn't respond, instead deciding to look at you with wide eyes and a starstruck expression. He soon snaps himself out of it, but it was a long enough pause to be almost as mortifying as the poor hobbit's outburst at the prince. He looks down at the leader of his company, taking a moment to collect the thoughts no doubt racing around his head before answering.

"Dovahkiin, Thorin, is in the common tongue, 'Dragonborn'. This half-elf is gifted in the dragontongue, and will be able to converse with Smaug should he still reside in the halls of Erebor. She is also the one rumoured to have travelled to the hall of the blessed feasting to... kill the world-eater, Alduin, the firstborn of Akatosh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In this universe, 'halflbreed' is a slur used for people who are half one race, half another, and it insinuates that one of the parents, normally the mother, was a prostitute, or that the halfling was an unwanted baby.


	3. A Young Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, the awe Solaris always feels towards the listener has been replaced with resentment, Specifically, resentment of the fact that while The listener looks completely unbothered by the snow and the cold, Solaris lost feeling in her feet two wolf attacks ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All asterisks will be explained at the end, as usual.

“Akatosh? You mean one of the gods which the nords here worship?” You resist the urge to chuckle yet again watching this curious exchange. Babette is watching too, and while Nazir is still tense at your shoulder, he is feeling far less threatened now than he was.

”Yes, Balin. The firstborn of one of the nine divines, named the World-Eater for the tyrannical rule he placed on Sovngarde and the countless heroes and legends he suppressed for centuries. He was no doubt a powerful foe, oh Listener." You roll your eyes and inwardly. The blatant flattery and over-the-top titular emphasis are starting to rub you the wrong way.

"Enough with the titles, wizard, there is no need for such stifling formality. And you, Master Burglar. While I am impressed with how you have handled yourself thus far, please refrain from burglarizing my sanctuary. We have several things of value but there is also much we have to lose here. And lastly," you continue, paying no mind to the wizard who has been trying his damndest to get a word in but has not yet succeeded, "Master Dwarf and Prince Oakenshield, if you would be so kind as to tell me when you plan to continue on your journey, so that I may follow with Shadowmere, I would be most grateful."

Motioning to Nazir and Babette, you walk out of the room, nearly walking smack into Solaris when you exit the room. She jerks back as if she's just been threatened with a red hot poker. "Listener! Apologies, I was just walking to inform you that all the dwarves are asleep, and they are all still in possession of their weapons, as instructed. But... is this really wise?" You smile at the young Bosmer's antics. She is still young, sometimes you think maybe too young for this life. Other times, you see her murder beggars in cold blood and think this life is exactly where she belongs.

You incline your head. "It will all become clear soon, love. Get some sleep, you are going to need it. Oakenshield, Master Dwarf, Gandalf, Nazir will show you to your room. Master Burglar, Babette will escort you back to yours. Goodnight, and may Sithis keep you from the void for one more night."

You then walk away, Solaris at your heel. Eager as always. You walk towards the bedrooms, but when your companion turns to walk into her shared dormitory, you hold her by the shoulder and steer her into yours. "Listener?" Her question is not fearful, but there is a wary curiosity when you are alone together that is present in all that she says. You smile and place a finger to your lips. Babette and Nazir walk past the door to your room, and you don't bother trying to catch any of their conversations.

"I need your help with something," you whisper, and the young protege nods.

"How may I be of assistance?"

**| | | | |**

Solaris had always felt awe towards the woman who had saved her, named her and trained her to kill. Now, though, that awe has been replaced with resentment. Resentment, because they are crouched near the black steed Shadowmere in Shrouded Armour and with only thin cloaks to keep them light on their feet. The young assassin huffs, watching her breath rise in circles of mist. "Are you sure they are going to leave tonight, Listener? There is every chance they are going to leave in the morning, as they told you."

She watches as the Listener scoffs. "They will not leave in the morning, and if they did, I would trust them even less than I do now. No, they will leave tonight, and we will be here waiting for them when they do." The moonlight glints off of the Ebony dagger and bow and arrows the Listener has on her back. Fingering her own Glass dagger, enchanted with a stamina curse, Solaris starts to let her mind wander. Namely, to the _very_ cute high elf, the one she saw in Falkreath at the site of her last contract. A sharp pinch on her nose drags her back to disappointing reality.

"Here they come."

Ignoring the fact that the leader of the Dark Brotherhood just _pinched her nose,_ Solaris readjusts her position to better blend into the shadows, her eyes catching the glint of a silver hilt and a steel blade. She turns to ask the Listener what to do, but the older woman is already on the horse, having made her ascent silently. Reaching a hand down, the woman grins, before pulling up her cowl with the other hand. "Come," she whispers, and Solaris takes the hand and swings herself up, making minimal noise, but still some.

Shadowmere tosses his mane, calming when his rider pats him along his neck. She kicks her heels once, and when Solaris grabs her shoulder with a start, lets out a breathy chuckle. The horse moves as his name suggests, with no noise and without sinking into the snow. They move quietly and quickly, cutting the company off when they jump into the light of the wizard's staff.

"I thought we would be leaving later than the early hours of the morning, Master Dwarf, but it's a good thing we were on watch anyway." The wizard definitely won't buy such an excuse, for he knows the door can only be opened with a passphrase or from the inside, but since they are sneaking away, what choice do they really have? "Now, the nearest place her where you may be able to purchase ponies is Dawnstar. Allow me to lead the way."

The Listener turns, and Solaris catches the eye of the blond dwarf who opened the door earlier, She gets the feeling they weren't expecting two elves to accompany them to their homeland. Slightly uncomfortable under so many stares, she pulls a branch of snow back and lets it go, just barely missing the Listener, who nearly falls off of her mount in response. She sighs, before halting Shadowmere and getting down from the saddle. Beckoning for Solaris to do the same, the young Bosmer follows, her nerves skyrocketing. She hadn't meant to hit her superior with snow, but it didn't look like that was going to save her.

"One moment, please, strangers. This is both a lesson for Solaris here and a demonstration as to why you would rather I were an ally than an enemy. Draw your dagger, love."

**| | | | |**

Thorin doesn't enjoy watching fights which are decided from the beginning. He doesn't really enjoy watching fights, but he especially hates ones wherein he already knows the outcome. This will be one of those fights. The 'Listener', the elf halfling, has a black dagger of polished and assumedly sharpened metal, while the younger elf's is what looks like cut glass, which is letting off a small, green glow.

But neither dagger hits, because the moment the younger of the two steps forwards, the older pushes off a rock and jumps.

She kicks her junior in the shoulder, sendin bc her spinning backwards and making her lose her footing and fall, straight into the black horse who skitters out of the way. She groans, throwing her dagger onto the floor in an obvious surrender. The Listener smiles and chuckles lightly. "Now, we can continue."

His Company is silent and still, obviously wary of the physical prowess they just saw. Thorin picks his sword back up from where he had stuck the end in the snow. "Let's go. We'll need those ponies if we are to continue through these lands. Something tells me we won't be welcome everywhere." But when he turns back around to face the front, he makes eye contact with the elf.

"You won't be passing straight through Skyrim, Master Oakenshield. If you wish to face the Calamity, you must first speak with a dear friend of mine, the Master of the Greybeards who live in High Hrothgar. His name is Paarthurnax. His help will be invaluable, but to reach him, you must first climb the seven thousand steps, face several trolls, and you must take the risk of running into a challenger, who is certain to be manageable but not pleasant."

Thorin knows his disbelief is showing on his face. The elf notices, and answers after turning around, probably to hide the contempt showing on her face. "If you wish to reclaim your home as we were never able to, then you must speak with him. He lives at the throat of the world, the peak of the highest mountain in Skyrim. He will help me, and by association, you."

Gandalf appears beside him. "She is your best chance at reclaiming your home, Thorin Oakenshield. You saw the power she possesses."

It is with a begrudging acceptance that he leads his Company after her, picking their way over stones until they reach the outskirts of the town. "This is Dawnstar. Allow me to speak with the Jarl and you will have your ponies. I doubt he would refuse to acquiesce the request of is Thane." When he goes to argue with the halfling, Gandalf puts a hand on his shoulder, and a certain 'look' from Balin stops him. He nods silently at her and she dismounts, making her way into town.

The people seem to know her, several trying to stop her to have a chat. She politely deflects all of them, walking away towards a large, thatched-roof hall, where a guard greets her and lets her in. She stays there for some time and Thorin is close to capturing the elf she brought with her and taking her black steed. Of course, just when the thin string which is his patience is about to snap, she exits of the long hall, a conniving grin on her face as she walks quickly back towards them.

"The Jarl has secured you steeds at the stables at Windhelm, fourteen ponies and a fine horse. Should you require your weapons to be sharpened or your armour improved, there is a fine blacksmith in the city to whom I must deliver some fire salts. I would send your wizard friend in to deal with that though." The Jarl of Windhelm may owe his allegiance to the Empire, but he is unlikely to let true dwarves into his walls. Let's go. If we leave now we can make it to Windhelm before dark, and you can trade some coin with the Kahjiit trading caravan for lodging in one of their larger tents."

The half-elf swings herself up onto the horse with little effort and no sound, taking the reins from her younger companion and urging her mount onwards. Thorin shares a look with Dwalin, who is holding his axe a little tighter and Balin, who's gaze is slightly sharper than it was a few moments ago.

Gandalf catches up with the halfling and starts to talk to her, a polite smile on his face and, surprisingly, a slight, childish twinkle in his eyes which Thorin has never seen before. Bilbo is behind him, talking in what the hobbit must think is a whisper, but what Thorin fondly realises is almost as loud as his normal speaking voice. "How tall is she by elf standards?"

Balin responds, even louder than Bilbo. "I'm not sure, lad, but I assume quite short. I've met some elves who could touch the clouds should they wish it."

"Really?"

"I'm quite short, actually. For even a half-elf. The other half is Nord, see, so theoretically I should be more than capable of reaching heights which most others can. I am, unfortunately, not able to do such a thing. " The elf behind the halfling sniggers, stopping immediately when the older Bosmer turns around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

Thorin realises with a sudden start that introductions are in order. When he looks up at the woman, she seems to find his eyes immediately. "What's your name, halfling," he says lowly, maintaining the tentative eye contact they have. He will not submit to an elf, even if only half her blood is traitorous.

"My name is whatever you wish to call me, but my friends call me (Y/N)."

"And should any of you like to address me as such, my name is Solaris." Thorin doesn't spare the younger elf a second glance, but he sees the way Bilbo throws her kind, offhand smile. She returns it with a small grin of her own, before turning back to face the front, one hand gripped onto the halfling- (Y/N)'s shoulder. 

"So, how far away is Windhelm," Bilbo asked, picking up the pace to walk just behind the black steed who is taking a leisurely stroll through the wilderness. (Y/N) laughs lightly.

"About six hours on foot, so we should pick up the pace. Should Shadowmere sense anything nearby, we are more than capable of speeding up and leaving you behind." There is a venom in her voice which Thorin does not take lightly. This is going to be a long journey.


	4. Two Legates and a Wandering General

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company plus two arrives at Windhelm, where the Listener catches up with some old friends and Solaris becomes increasingly uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any asterisks will be explained at the end. Also, this dynamic between the Reader, Legate Rikke and General Tullius was so fun to write!!

When Legate Rikke had received a letter sent by courier to the Palace of Kings, she hadn't expected to find word of an old friend and fellow soldier within the ink scratching on the parchment. The woman was on her way to Windhelm to pick up fourteen ponies and a horse, which is odd considering she owns a black steed she visited every Imperial Camp in Skyrim on during the days of the civil war.

But no matter. Rikke's dear friend is visiting her after far too long, and they will have time to catch up before she moves on, the traveller that she is. But who can the ponies be for? Young visitors, not nords surely, for they would take offence at such a thing. Maybe young elves? No. Rikke can ask when she arrives.

But before that, someone bursts into the Jarl's hall, breathing hard and heavy with their hands on their knees. "My Jarl! Legate! It- General Tullius has arrived in Windhelm!" The hall is silent, the steward having frozen and the newly appointed - appointed only after a _very_ thorough background check due to their predecessor - Court Wizard having tripped over their robes and landed face flat on the floor. Everyone is too shocked to even register he has fallen.

Since no one seems to be moving, Rikke takes it upon herself to clear her throat and start barking orders. She will never be anything but a soldier in her heart and her soul. "Steward, send word to the kitchens. We are going to have the best wine poured should the General be thirsty and the finest food Windhelm has to offer should he want a meal. Wizard, keep yourself away from the hall until the General has taken his leave. From what I can recall," which is more than she would like to admit, "the General is not very fond of mages. Well? Go!"

It takes the General five minutes to get from the city to the palace and when he enters out of the cold and into the hall, his face is pale and the sword at his side has dulled, blunted. He has been fighting. Rikke instructs the guards on what to do and sends them to take the heavy cloak and gauntlets off of the Imperial. They do so without hesitation or any questions. She has been drilling them in orders since she arrived.

"Legate," he says in greeting, and she stands to attention.

"General, it's good to see you again, Sir." He shakes his head and flakes of snow drift off of the greying blond hair. "We weren't expecting you, Sir."

"I heard that two of my Legates were meeting in Windhelm, both of whom fought with me in the Reunification of Skyrim. I could hardly miss out on the chance to catch up and revel with old friends. The formalities are not necessary, Rikke. Tullius will do just fine." She doesn't change her posture, nor her expression, but tries the name on her tongue. It's strange not to have the normal prefix, but it is something she could get used to.

"Where is our friend?"

Rikke blinks a few times, before turning on her heel and following the General to the table, where there is a spread of food waiting for them. "She has not yet arrived. I only received word of her impending visit this very morn. She has come for fourteen ponies and a horse."

The General raises an eyebrow at that and pauses before taking a sip of his wine. He places the goblet back on the table. "Odd. Maybe her steed perished in battle with bandits or sickness. Perhaps the years caught up with him."

Rikke almost scoffs at that, standing just to her General's left. "Sit, Rikke. Let us talk until our friend arrives."

"Of course - Tullius."

And they do. They talk about the war before their elven friend joined them, about how the tide seemed to turn with only her name on their side. They speak of revelry by the fire and the intricate plans they spent so very much time poring over. How after capturing only a few fortresses they had worn the Stormcloaks down enough that they had had to draw all their forces back to Windhelm to defend the 'High King'.

They talk and laugh and eat and the General drinks, but not Rikke. Her senses are sharp and focused on the door and halls, should anyone wish to attack her General. She smiles softly to herself at such a thought. She has always prioritised the chain of command. A chain which the friend who is due to arrive soon climbed surprisingly quickly, with her loyalty never once being called into question.

She had been their saving grace in that bloodbath.

"The sun is beginning to set, Rikke. Where is she?" Rikke wishes she knew. The courier had come from Dawnstar, which was only a day ride or walk away, but perhaps she was travelling with company. It was certainly more than likely. Shuddering, Rikke remembered the creepy jester her friend had brought with her the _last_ time she had visited. She hoped such unfavourable company would not be following her friend to the Palace of Kings this time around.

Soon enough, the stars are out, and there is no sign of Rikke's dear friend. Of course, just as she and the General are about to turn in, the door opens, a cold wind following the newest person to enter the great hall.

Taking off their hood, the figure surveys their surroundings, their follower doing the same. They lock eyes with Rikke, and both women immediately moved forward.

**| | | | |**

It has been too long since you had seen Rikke. To say you are looking forward to sneaking the dwarves into Windhelm for the night if just to find your friend and catch up is an understatement. You are practically bouncing in your saddle as you near the gates of the harshest hold in the province. The ponies are bridled and waiting along with the horse for the wizard. But when Thorin Oakenshield goes to mount one and lead his company forwards, you send a look towards the wizard to stop him.

"The wilds of Skyrim are a dangerous place at night, Prince Oakenshield. Wait here. When it gets darker, and the stars are the only light in the sky, Solaris will come out to get you and sneak you into the inn. There won't be a storm tonight, but it will be cold, so stay together lest someone see you, or not."

When you swing yourself off of Shadowmere and lead him to the other horses, you don't tie him, as you know he will not stray far from where you left him. You nod to your companion and she follows you into the city, which is deserted save for a few dark elves who you nod at and a couple of beggars you flip single septims at. Solaris seems fairly uncomfortable in her cloak, so you have her walk closer to you.

The girl is stubborn, and while she will not admit it she is glad for the warmth.

You reach the imposing wooden doors quickly, but you refuse to acknowledge that the reason is your excitement. You have to do your utmost to stop yourself from bouncing on your heels like you did every time you were nervous sixty years ago. Instead, you stare straight ahead and quietly thank the guard when they open the doors to let you in. Some of the voices are ones you recognise from the last stand the Stormcloaks made within these walls.

They were your fellow soldiers, men and women who fought with you in the final battle.

Warm air hits your face and you inhale the sweet scent of juniper mead when you step into the great hall. Taking off your hood and surveying the area, you lock eyes with someone very familiar.

Rikke. She has barely changed, if not for the wrinkles beginning to appear at the corners of her eyes and along her forehead. Her eyes are still a fiery brown and she rises from her seat at the bench when she sees you. Solaris takes a step backwards, her gift of reading the room coming in particularly handy at times like these.

You both move forwards at the same time, embracing with such a fierceness that you nearly knock each other over. Her armour digs into your shoulder and your sure you dagger is pressing hard into her thigh, but neither of you cares. When your eyes flutter open again, you have pulled away, and Rikke is looking at you with nothing but joy in her eyes. Over her shoulder. you catch glimpse of another friend, one you were not expecting to see.

"General Tullius! I wasn't expecting to see you here, Sir."

The older man smiles, his wrinkles far more prominent due to his age, his blonde hair going grey at the roots and his face slightly paler than you remember. But his eyes remain just as alive as ever before, and you struggle not to embrace him the same way you did your equal, Rikke. But when you make no move to come forwards, the General closes the distance for you.

One arm comes around your shoulder and pulls you into a comforting hug, the older man being experienced enough to avoid giving you imprints on your arms due to the cold metal of his armour. "It is good to see you, (Y/N). Rikke has been instructed to call me Tullius, for I am no great general now. The same will be applied to you." You smile when he pulls away.

"Tullius. It's good to see you again, old friend. The years have certainly not been kind to you." Behind you, Rikke snorts, and you use the distraction to signal to Solaris that she needs to go and get the dwarves in now.

"Well, they have certainly favoured you, friend." You let out a humourous, low whistle at his blatant flattery, but allow yourself to be guided to the table, sitting down next to the general and opposite Rikke. And, well, if you shamelessly flirt with the beautiful Imperial servant who brings you your first goblet of wine, you don't have to tell Solaris that.

**| | | | |**

Thorin is cold. He's cold, hungry, tired, angry _and_ doubtful of the elf ever sending her friend out. They can't take the ponies without her if they don't want to break the law, but the wind is getting stronger and the temperature lowers with every passing second. Just as Thorin is about to Give Dwalin the go-ahead to storm in and kill anyone who tries to stop them, the young she-elf comes out of the gates and beckons them towards her.

"The Listener has reunited with some old friends and will likely be spending the night with them. I have been instructed to take you to the inn and stand watch to make sure no one sees you. We will have to leave early, or we will not be able to leave. You should eat and get some sleep quickly."

As the young elf is speaking, she leads them all through a city - one which Thorin has to begrudgingly admit has an impressive structure - deserted save for a beggar warming themself by a fire. The inn they enter is warm, lit by candles and a fire in every room, and the woman behind the counter seems unsurprised to see the elf. Since all of his company save Gandalf is wearing a hood and is stood silently in the corner, unseen thus far, she doesn't pay them any heed.

"One large room, please."

"Of course. Will the Legate be joining you?" The woman seems to know the elf, so while Thorin isn't suspicious of the exchange, he doesn't pay too little attention either.

"No, she will probably be staying with Legate Rikke in the Palace of Kings. She is sure to appreciate the thought, though."

"Alright, Sol. I'll be turning in soon as well, so if you need something, just head to the basement. There might be a couple of skeever traps to avoid, but other than that you should be okay."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"There's no need for the 'ma'am', Sol, I've told you that much. But it's okay, I'm more than happy to help you with whatever you need."

After nodding to the owner who walks away from the counter and towards her room, the elf beckons the Company forwards, Thorin at their head. "Where is our room?" When the elf takes a moment to answer, he raises an eyebrow. She clears her throat.

"Your room is just over here, Master Oakeshield." She leads them to a large room with a bed big enough to fit five dwarves and a hobbit, along with a rug for the other eight. Thorin nods at her, and she shifts from foot to foot. She isn't as confident around people as her elder.

But Thorin doesn't care. He turns on his heel and waits until he has heard her leave before he nods at his company, who take out what rations they have from the 'Sanctuary' and begin to eat


	5. Shifting Snows and Seven Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves are made to live under mountains, not climb them, and wizards really need to learn how to keep their mouths shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any asterisks will be explained in the endnotes.  
> Also, I love the idea of Rikke being permanently fondly exasperated with the Dragonborn.
> 
> I’m so so sorry that this took so long to get out! I kept rewriting it because I wasn’t happy with the tone of the chapter.

"These blasted stairs go on forever!" You try not to laugh at the outraged exclamation from the hobbit of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, but it is becoming increasingly more difficult. He has been grumbling on and off for the past hour, ever since you passed through the hamlet at the bottom of the mountain and began to climb the seven thousand steps. You have left Solaris on Shadowmere to scout ahead to see if there are any dangers.

"We are almost there, Master Baggins."

"Really?"

"Almost to the hunter's outpost, that is."

Bilbo groans and you smile to yourself underneath your cowl. The hobbit is proving to be more and more interesting as time goes on. You turn back to the front, where Thorin Oakenshield is pressing ahead through the snow, and notice in the distance your mount returning, with one detail missing which turns your regular heartbeat into erratic, frenzied pulses.

"Stop!" The dwarves all pause at your voice, but you don't spare even one of them a second glance. Shadowmere has reached you and seems eager to return the way he came. You lock eyes with the black horse, who tosses his mane one more time before you get the message.

You swing yourself up, and when the wizard comes up to you to no doubt ask where you're going, you tell him to press onward on foot. "We may not survive whatever she's fighting, but if it's wounded, you can kill it and lead the dwarves to the Greybeards. They won't like you, but show them this if I don't survive."

You toss him a single white dragon scale, one Paarthurnax gave to you which has engraved into it a word of power. You turn your horse and he rides hard, the stone and wood under his hooves creaking and scraping as he takes you up, up, up to where your companion is fighting. You turn a corner, pass the hunter who is firing arrows ahead of her and you see it.

A bloody frost troll. A glorified snow monkey. A nuisance.

Solaris is in front of it, ducking below swipes of its clawed hands and nicking its wrists. Unfortunately, she has never fought a troll before and thus has never had to fight an enemy which regenerates as you hurt it. You call to her, flying off of Shadowmere - who continues running straight at the troll, the stupid horse that he is - and rolling on the floor.

"Get back!" You draw you bow loaded with an ebony arrow and a paralysis poison, firing it directly at the chest of the troll, who roars and topples over. You sigh. Solaris immediately gets to work, hacking at the creature's throat until its head comes loose and rolls across the ice. You grimace but pull your arrow out of the body, harvesting the troll fat and placing it delicately in your bag.

Solaris stares at you, an unreadable expression on her face.

Then, she gets up and stumbles over, passing Shadowmere who she gives an absent, gentle pat too. She slumps into you, and you freeze for a moment before you place one arm over her trembling shoulders to soother her.

"Well done," you whisper, "not many people survive their first frost troll encounter. You're wiser for it, love."

She breathes back something which sounds suspiciously like a thank you, before the tremor of her lithe frame all but ceases and she steps away. The warmth she takes with her, you find, isn’t missed.

The Company is behind you, has been ever since you turned the corner, but when Shadowmere comes up and nuzzles your hand, you understand his meaning. You won’t be splitting up anymore.

You leave the Dragon Scale you gave to the wizard with him. Maybe he will find some use for it later in the journey. You mount your horse and feel instead of see Solaris mount behind you. Oakenshield is watching you curiously, but you’ve grown accustomed to strange looks over the years, so you pay him no mind.

”We should press on. We’ve passed the hunter’s outpost, so there’s only half the way to go now. It gets steepest just before we reach High Hrothgar. There’s a cave we must make for and reach before nightfall.”

Thorin Oakenshield watches you with suspicion, but your mind is still reeling from the brush with Sithis your young companion just faced. She is still shaky against your back, but less so than before, and any fading adrenaline is all but gone. You sigh as you kick your heels and Shadowmere starts walking slowly forwards. The dwarves have fallen into line behind you, some sinking in the snow and some, like Bilbo Baggins, walking delicately over the freshly fallen drifts on large, light feet.

Thorin Oakenshield is doing his best to overtake you, and for the sake of his dignity, you let him, pulling on Shadowmere's reins to slow him down.

For a wandering prince, you are more than willing to take second place.

**| | | | |**

Nazir wakes up to Cicero banging on the door to his quarters in a panic, his voice rising so many octaves it hurts the redguard's ears. He groans and drags himself out of the sweet recess of sleep and into the waking world, the one in which he is strapping a curved sword to his hip and putting on his red headscarf.

"What's the matter, Jester?"

The bells on Cicero's crimson hat jingle with every movement he makes on the balls of his feet. "The Listener! The Listener is gone! Vanished into the night with that, oh... that awful little Bosmer she loves so! Cicero is lonely without the Listener! What is he to do without her words... the words of the Night Mother?"

Nazir's hand twitches towards his blade, but he forces himself to stomach the deranged monologue. If he kills the keeper, she would no doubt force him to find the replacement, and she would be sad. She has somehow - although she only admits it after a hearty dose of juniper mead - grown quite fond of the little louse. She has said it would be quiet without him.

Nazir is beginning to wonder if such silence would be so bad. He doubts the clown could sneak up on anyone with such ridiculous bells attached to his head. "I'm sure she had her reasons, Cicero, but you can't come barging in here unless you wish to talk business! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to."

Nazir closes the door to immense amounts of protest from the other side, but there isn't any physical resistance. Walking over to his desk, he picks up the note he had discovered the night before. It is from his friend, his Listener, who has disappeared with the band of dwarves who came knocking at the door that morning.

It reads: ' _I will return when the Lonely Mountain is once again a dwarven kingdom. Should I take longer to return home than the dwarven colony in the Blue Mountain, you must journey to Erebor and discover my fate for yourself._ '

Nazir sighs, places down the note and continues his morning routine, which involves cleaning and sharpening his blade as well as coating it with a deadly health poison. When he does leave his quarters, Babette is walking down the corridor too, and falls into step beside him as they go towards the hall. A silencer greets, them, along with two intiates who are already eating.

While he finishes his meal, Nazir gives out two contracts and wonders what the morning would be like if his friend were here.

**| | | | |**   
  


Waking up, Rikke knew she would spend the morning nursing a hangover. Apparently, General Tulius will be doing the same, as he walks into the private dining room with bags under his eyes and his grey hair a mess.

He sits down heavily on the bench and slides a slip of paper towards Rikke, and she picks it up and reads it with a groan and a curse ready on her tongue.

”Apparently, our young friend still hasn’t lost her taste for adventure.”

”Yes, Tulius. She certainly hasn’t changed, or really aged in twenty years.”

”That’ll be the Bosmer in her. She’s definitely never been one to settle down, anyway.”

Rikke laughs, thanking the servant who brings her her fruit and ham, while the General takes his milk and oats and starts eating immediately. “Where do you think she would be going, coming to Windhelm with a young elf dressed such a way?”

Tulius looks at her grimly, before he shakes his head. Rikke has never understood why he makes such a face when she brings up their friend’s strange light armour. “I can’t be sure, but I assume she has been given an order to eliminate some bandits in a nearby cave, or outpost.”

Nodding, the Legate returns to her breakfast. She wonders when, if ever, her dear companion will ever stick around long enough for breakfast.


	6. The Greybeards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greybeards still aren't particularly friendly towards anyone who isn't Paarthurnax or the Dragonborn, so when she arrives with thirteen dwarves, a hobbit and a wizard, they have more than a few questions. The first one being why the Dragonborn hasn't returned the horn of Jurgen the Windcaller to them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one also took forever to get out because I have never actually even startedb the Jurgen the Windcaller quest.

“Just let me do all the talking. Wizard, they won't like you in particular, so just stay behind me in case it comes to a show of strength."

"A what?"

"Show of strength, Oakenshield. In case it comes down to me having to reassert myself. Stay behind me until they are no longer hooded."

Thorin grits his teeth and sets his jaw; this elf is proving to be even more of a problem than he had originally anticipated. The younger one, who carries a dagger of polished glass stays standing outside the door, her hands folded behind her as she rocks forwards onto the balls of her feet and back again. Her gaze isn't held by anything for long, but Thorin still wonders what could be any more interesting than the castle on top of the mountain they have come across.

The horse which (Y/N) the Listener rides tosses his mane, but remains silent as a shadow otherwise. Before Thorin can think too much about it, his eyes are drawn to the large pillars of stone the castle has decorating its front, and they remind him of home. The pillars aren't ornate as some things he has seen in elven kingdoms, but they are by no means boring or simple. They are structurally what Thorin would consider a mediocre masterpiece.

Then the doors open, and he has no time to think of anything more as he as swept inside by a particularly nasty gust of wind.

"Dragonborn," an old voice says from somewhere Thorin can't see, "who are these armed strangers you bring to a place of peace? And when shall our leader return to the Throat of the world?"

**| | | | |**

You wince when you hear that voice. If you even mention the wrong name in front of this priest - and no you can't ever remember his name but that hardly matters right now - he will shout the people behind you to death. You clear your throat and move aside to allow Oakenshield to step forward. "This is Thorin Oakenshield. He and his company are going to their home of Erebor and will reclaim it from the dragon who sleeps inside."

"What Dragon? The Great Calamity? They do not stand a chance against such a foe. He rivals the great Paarthurnax in strength and while he only shouts one Thu'uum, he has spent many centuries meditating on the words. They are not welcome here."

You start getting angry. Oakenshield opens his mouth to speak but before he does you march forward and grab the old man by the scruff of his neck. Pulling him down to your level, you hiss into his ear. "I am Dovahkiin, and I will _not_ be told who is and is not welcome in your temple, of which _I_ am master." The priest doesn't seem too bothered, but you are angry, so you hardly care.

"Oakenshield, your rooms will be prepared. We will leave here in the morning, and we shall go straight to the Throat of the World."

That seems to get the priest's attention, so when he hunches over and draws his dagger, you are hardly surprised. The dwarves, however, seem to take the weapon as a personal insult to their ancestry, because they surge in front of you, weapons drawn and eyes sharp, but stay close to where you are. You refuse to feel touched, so instead, you draw your bow and make a show of loading it with an orcish arrow.

"I am the best archer in Tamriel. Do not be foolish, friend. Let us stay and then let us leave." The elder sighs, and you know he is going to try something when the dwarves are asleep, so when he puts his dagger back in its sheath you grit your teeth and start calculating. He nods and walks away, presumably to tell the other Greybeards about the newest development of their day, and you turn back to the Company.

"I am sorry, Prince Oakenshield, that your Company was endangered even slightly here. It will not happen again." You say it with as much conviction as you can, but you know for a fact that the sleep you were so looking forward to is not going to come tonight.

You go back towards the door and open it, beckoning for Gandalf and Solaris to come inside, neither of whom seems all that happy about being left out in the cold. Solaris I particular has always hated snow, so she typically handled assassinations in the southern parts of Skyrim. "Sorry, love, I know you're cold."

You think she mumbles something along the lines of ' _No idea how cold_ ' but she's inside now, so you don't even clock the blatant complaining. Instead, you force a neutral look onto your face as the leader of the greybeards - no, you can't remember his name either, but who can blame you, they all look the same - walks (shuffles)into the room. He looks at you once before his eyes settle back on Oakenshield.

"You may stay for one night, Wanderer Prince."

"You know of me?"

The priest nods, fucking _nods_ , like half of the known world doesn't know the rumours of the Dwarven Prince who led the Colony of the Blue Mountains to their new life. "We know of many things. We will house your company for one eve, and then we humbly ask you to return down the mountain, and bother us no further." You snap all over again.

You growl, the wolf in you meaning the sound comes from the back of your throat, low and threatening and _feral_ , exactly what you want. "We are talking to Paarthurnax. I will climb the sheer face of the mountain myself if I must, but I am asking his help on this quest. You will not stop me, elder."

The priest, to his credit, looks less frightened by your aggressive display than the others, but you can smell his fear. The specific scent of fear in greybeards translates to the colour indigo, instead of the purple of most people's terror. To your credit, you haven't bared your teeth yet, which is a win in the whole 'controlling your temper' thing Vilkas has had you and Farkas on for the last month.

You start walking away, looking over your shoulder at Oakenshield. "Come, Prince. I will show you where we will _all_ be sleeping." You throw a pointed look at the Greybeards in their entirety, trying to communicate through a smouldering glare that if even one of them so much as comes near the dwarves, you will go full wolf and tear their arm off with your jaws. "Love, I need to speak to you."


End file.
